Open Fire (On My Burning Heart)
by Paperclip-Assassin
Summary: It's hard to be lucky in love- a statement only too true for Dean Winchester because he doesn't really do the whole 'falling in love' thing. That is until he gets to know a certain Castiel Novak and decides that maybe he can make an exception. What follows is a long road of love, loss, heartbreak and friendship as Castiel tries to get behind Dean's darkest secret. - Destiel AU.
1. Send Me An Angel

**A/N**  
my first multi chapter story for this fandom, I wasn't going to publish it yet but feedback usually keeps me writing and also I'm the most indecisive person in creation.

Chapters will be named after songs- you can (and totally should) check them out ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or other copyrighted material mentioned

Note: you might notice- well I'm telling you so you _will_ notice- I misspelled NCIS. That's totally intentional because I wouldn't do that on accident since it used to be my favorite show before SPN happened.

Now enjoy the show and leave me feedback if you want to see this continued, the next update isn't far away.

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**Chapter 1**  
Send Me An Angel

* * *

If a girl walks in and draws her name in my heart

I'll turn and run away

Everyday we've all been led astray

It's hard to be lucky in love  
.

_(- Real Life -)  
_

* * *

Raising a kid was hard, Dean got that. He also got that after three years of living with his girlfriend Lisa and her now fourteen-year-old son it meant that he couldn't just smoothly disappear from their lives as he had done with his flings- and even Lisa herself- prior to this relationship. They had parted on fairly good terms. There hadn't really been an exchange of harsh words or tears... just the acceptance that whatever it was they had shared romantically had over the course of their time together transformed into mere friendship. The feeling was perfectly mutual, so their break-up had undergone a quiet discussion and the agreement to part ways and see whether them being friends was a good idea. Mostly they both thought it would be good for Ben if Dean stayed close by, considering he had become the boy's father figure, and not a bad one at that. That's why he now found himself seated in his '67 Chevrolet Impala at roughly six p.m. as he waited in the parking lot outside _Dance Heaven_ as he had done every Thursday for the past year and a half.

_Dance Heaven_ was the dance school Ben had been attending hip hop classes at as a substitute for the kick-boxing lessons his mother wouldn't let him take until he'd be sixteen. Dean, too, was glad that the fourteen-year-old had let himself be persuaded into trying hip hop, seeing as now he seemed to enjoy it greatly. Even now that his and Lisa's relationship had ended he still took time out of his week to spend it with the kid, feeling it was what both of them needed and that Lisa could probably use some time for herself every once in a while. He knew she could manage raising her son on her own, had done so for ten years, but still he felt an obligation to not abandon the pair and was honored that they would let him stay.

Ben had been very mature about the splitting-up of his mom and Dean, though he had heard the kid stifle a choked cry once he'd retreated to his room after they'd broken the news to him. After the initial shock had worn off Ben had gone back to normal fairly quickly and even helped Dean move the boxes with his belongings into the Impala and later into the modest new apartment halfway across town. He was really grateful for having the boy in his life.

A quick look at the clock told him that the class should have ended by now but no kids were exiting the building. He wondered whether he had mixed up the day or Lisa had already been here before him but knew either was highly unlikely. With a soft sigh he got out of his car and threw the door shut behind him before walking the few yards across the lot. He'd never actually been inside the building before and thus was slightly startled when he found that the studio turned out to be bigger than he'd thought. There was the reception desk he could see through the windowed doors and across from it the cozy looking group of cushioned chairs in the middle of which was a small white IKEA table littered with various glossy dance-themed magazines, a waiting room for all those moms picking up their little girls- _and_ boys, no judging there- from ballet classes, he supposed.

Further down the hall, the part of the studio that couldn't be seen from outside, a couple of doors led to different rooms and by the looks of it they were all busy. Classical music could be heard faintly, probably from the room on the far end of the hallway, but was mostly swallowed up by the harsher tones of what he guessed was Ben's hip hop class. The fact that the music was still playing also explained why no one had come out yet. Another melody was thrown into the medley of genres and Dean found it was coming from a room diagonally across the hall from the hip hop class. The door stood open as if in an invite. Gifted with a natural urge to explore he was immediately drawn to the room with the mystifyingly rhythmic music. Cautiously he approached the class and took a peek inside. It was a dance class for adults and to his untrained eye what they were- partly clumsily- practicing looked very much like a Tango. It was a strange mix of sudden jerking movements and smoothly flowing ones that came together in the choreography, in parts obviously well-rehearsed already. One of the dancers stood out from the rest and Dean was almost certain that he must be the instructor. The man was clad in black slacks and a white shirt, the fact that he was soaked in sweat making the material slightly translucent so there was no way to ignore his leanly muscled back and arms. His dark hair was messy but in a strangely organized way- how that description made sense in his head was beyond Dean- and stuck to his sweat-beaded forehead and he moistened full lips with a dart of pink tongue while he watched his students' performance even as he was dancing himself. What was most mesmerizing about the guy, however, were his eyes. Never before had Dean seen such a radiant shade of blue, well maybe on a Siberian Husky but not on a guy. Or a chick, for that matter.

It was probably easily observable how fascinated he was, his gaze intently focused on the blue-eyed dancer and his sly movements, but thankfully no one even seemed to notice him in their concentration. The song ended abruptly and the pairs all assumed an end pose then there was a brief moment of silence and stillness before Blue Eyes straightened up and clapped his hands, nodding appreciatively at his students. Dean took half a step back so he was partly hidden by the doorframe and didn't look like the stalker he was. A part of him hoped there would be another song, another choreography to watch but his hopes crumbled when the people in the room went to the back of the room- it was completely mirrored on the wall opposite from where he was standing, giving him full view of the scene- and rummaged through their things. To his relief it looked a lot like they were just having a short break because after they had all drunk some water, dried their sweaty faces in towels or shared a quick laugh all of them went back to their previous partner and position in the room. Blue Eyes took the hand of a young dark-haired woman with a constant smirk on her pretty face. She, like the other people including Dean, seemed to be utterly captivated by the dancing instructor and awaited his next words.

"You did really well, all of you."

What a _voice_.

So deep and rough while at the same time incredibly smooth, like... like sandpaper laced with a spoonful of honey. Dean found himself gripping the doorframe for support. "Now let's continue last week's choreography where we left off, see how it goes." With that Blue Eyes produced a small remote control from his pocket and pushed a button. A moment later a new song started up and Dean dared to step forward from his half-hidden position in order to see better. This dance, while still containing obvious elements of a Tango, was smoother than the first; all slow spins and rolling hips, especially the latter giving Dean slight gooseflesh as he watched on.

Lost in the movements of the man with the impossible eyes and the indescribable voice he almost jumped in surprise when someone tapped his shoulder. He turned around to look down and meet apologetic eyes. "Sorry I didn't text you, I knew it would take longer today, Zeke added thirty minutes extra because of the competition." Ben looked genuinely mortified for not telling him and Dean sent him a lopsided grin, ruffling the boy's damp hair affectionately as he had often done with his little brother.

"Don't worry, I figured it was something like that," he said reassuringly. "Ready to go now?" When Ben nodded he motioned for him to lead the way and sent one last look to the tango class. They were all lined up in front of the mirror, men loosely embracing the women from behind. Just before he turned around to leave he accidentally met Blue Eyes' stare in the mirror and froze temporarily at the intense expression in those eyes.

When he finally remembered how to move his legs he swore there was a smirk on the dancer's face.

Outside Ben was already leaning against the passenger door of the Impala, backpack carelessly thrown over one shoulder and sweaty hair shielded from the late April breeze by a baseball cap. Dean winked at him and got into the car on the driver side. "This time last year you were already picking me up with the bike," Ben said innocently, stroking a finger over the car's worn leather interior while they drove down the semi-busy road to the house Dean no longer shared with the Braedens.

"You know there was still snow in the area a month ago. Not the perfect biking conditions," Dean explained patiently. "But she's already in the garage and Bobby's having a good look at her. I promise to take you on a ride soon as she's finished, alright?"

"Awesome." The boy's eyes lit up significantly at the promise and he turned to look out the side window at the few pedestrians still on the streets. They were talking about the motorcycle Dean had wanted ever since he'd been Ben's age and finally had saved up enough money to buy for his thirty-second birthday two years prior. The bike was his second big love next to the Impala and Lisa had during their relationship often joked about how she felt like she had to share Dean with two other women.

Now in retrospect Dean wondered if maybe she hadn't been joking at all.

"Your homework all done?" Dean asked in a moment of parental responsibility- usually he would take on the role of the ally in the situations requiring a good-parent and a bad-parent, much to Lisa's disdain.

"Yep," Ben said, popping the 'p' and nodding his head. "Kevin helped me with algebra after school and the rest was easy."

"Good, we don't wanna repeat last semester's debacle," Dean warned, earning himself an eye-roll and a sigh before he approached a more fun subject. "Are you excited for the dance off?"

Ben beamed at him. "You bet I am! We're gonna show those other groups what real hip hop looks like!"

"That's the spirit, kid." He chuckled lightly.

"Even Mr Novak said we had really good chances the last time he watched our training. And he really knows what's up."

"Who's Mr Novak?" Dean raised an eyebrow as the unfamiliar name rolled off his tongue, scanning his brain for a memory triggered by it and coming up completely blank.

The boy next to him sent a quizzical look in his direction. "He owns the studio. And I don't think you've met officially, he wasn't around for the dance off last year, but you probably saw him today. He teaches the standard dances himself. You were watching one of his adult classes when I finished."

Dean swallowed, already having a faint idea of who this Novak guy possibly was. "Dark hair, blue eyes?" he asked to make sure just as they pulled up in front of their destination.

"Yeah, that's him." Ben said, already pushing the door open. "Thanks for picking me up."

"No problem, buddy." They bumped their fists together- their own version of a cool goodbye ever since hugging became too awkward- and Ben got out of the Impala. "Is the Saturday thing still okay?" he called after the boy.

"Sure! See you then." The answer was called at him over Ben's shoulder as he disappeared in the house.

"See ya," he echoed to himself. At the window he saw Lisa standing and watching him with a melancholic gaze, sending him a small wave when their eyes met. Dean raised a hand in an awkward answering wave and maneuvered his sleek black car out of the driveway to make his way back across town into the cold and lonely apartment that awaited him.

The drive took less time than he would have wanted it to, seeing as he really didn't look forward to spending the night in his barely furnished living room with a can of cheap beer and a B-class crime show. It being a Thursday it probably wouldn't even pay off to go out and pick up a random chick at some bar, not that he particularly felt like it. His time with Lisa and Ben had changed him, Bobby thought so too. And he freely admitted that it was nice having someone to come home to, someone who was _there_. He'd never had that before his time with the Braeden's.

Dead mother, abusive asshole dad… then Sam had left, so he had sought temporary comfort with one-night-stands until he'd met his high school sweetheart again only to mess it up all over.

Pushing the dark thought aside Dean pulled into his usual spot and killed the engine, fondly petting his steering wheel as if communicating a silent 'thank you' for the ride. Sheesh, he really _was_ too attached to his car sometimes. With a grunt he dragged himself out of the Impala and onto the street to walk the few yards to his building. This part of town was mostly deserted, the exception being the notorious drunkards wandering the street. Sure, it wasn't Beverly Hills but it was affordable enough and still more agreeable than other places he'd looked at and it wasn't like he spent much time there anyway.

Most of his time was passed at _Bobby's_ which belonged to... take a guess... the one and only Dean Winchester. Guessed wrong, didn't you? Most people did and even Dean himself thought it confusing to keep the name. Bobby Singer, a gruff mechanic with a heart of gold, had always been the father Dean and Sam had never had. He had been the one to teach Dean how to ride a bike and later drive a car, he had been the one to turn up at Sammy's graduation, hug his enormous frame and tell him that he was damn proud of him. Their dad had spent that day with his hunting buddies.

Then a year ago Bobby had suffered a light stroke, which on its own had been a shock to everyone, but then on top of that he had declared that he wanted to sell his auto shop because he couldn't afford having employees and couldn't keep working like he did. Dean, who'd been between jobs back then and only occasionally helped out at the garage, had offered to start full-time on minimum wage just so the place where he and his brother had spent so much of their childhood didn't get closed down or taken over by a stranger. Bobby being Bobby had immediately written the whole shop over to the Winchester and insisted they keep the name. It was the only thing to remember him by, he'd stubbornly grumbled.

So yeah, that's the story of why a garage by the name of _Bobby's_ was owned by someone bearing a completely different name.

Dean chuckled grimly. Being his own boss was great, of course. No one yelled at him for coming in late- except for Bobby- and no one gave him shit for not finding out what was wrong with an engine after like five minutes- again Bobby was generally an exception to that, the old man was really bored since he'd retired. But all the paperwork that came with owning a garage and the calls he had to make- and there really was no way to put it nicely- sucked balls. Okay, so maybe there were several ways to put that nicely but Dean couldn't be bothered with niceties when it came to paying a friggin' shitload of bills.

The garage didn't run too well. They had their regulars who brought in their rusty old trucks that almost fell apart while driving on a regular basis and occasionally they'd get a frantic call from someone who had found their number in one of the phonebooks from a public phone booth, neither of which had seen an upgrade since the mid-70's or something. It wasn't that they were bad at what they did, both Dean and Bobby knew damn well how to treat a car or motorcycle of almost any kind and they were more than just decent mechanics, but Bobby Singer's... it looked like a derelict junkyard. Which it kinda was. It just also happened to be a garage and Dean, as much as he wanted to polish his shop's image, had no money left over at the end of the month to invest into advertisements or much needed renovation works.

What little money he did have he spent on his rent, groceries- aka beer- and poor Diner food, on gas for both the Impala and his bike and the rest on Ben because he loved that kid enough to spoil him. It was good the way it was. Not great but fair enough.

Dean dropped onto his couch and stared at the shoddy ceiling, asking no one in particular, "When exactly have I become so fucking pathetic?"

For a very long time he didn't move from his spot and just kept staring until his upstairs neighbors returned home and their steps caused debris to crumble into his eyes. He blinked several times after that and got up to push the couch a few feet back, which solved the problem for now. Slowly Dean walked into his kitchen and got himself a beer before sitting down again and picking remaining ceiling flakes out of his eye lashes. Next he reached over to his makeshift coffee table, which was really just a large cardboard box that he hadn't yet unpacked, and fished for the remote, switching on the TV even before settling back into the cushions.

As predicted there was nothing on. Conspiracy theories on FOX News, live footage from the middle east on CNN, re-runs of Drawn Together on MTV, an ancient episode of some Navy crime show on CBS. With a sigh he stopped zapping through the channels and turned the volume on mute before drowning his beer in one go. Hesitantly he patted down his jeans, unsure in which pocket his phone rested but quickly realizing it was on the left. He unlocked it with an automatic slide of his thumb and went straight to contacts, blindly finding the number he was looking for. For a solid minute his thumb hovered above the screen before he dared to push the call button.

It rang for a while until a familiar voice sounded in his ear.

"_Hello, this is Sam Winchester, sorry I couldn't answer right now but leave your number and I'll, uh, call back._" Dean knew the message by heart and waited three seconds for the next part. "_And if this is you, Dean- I'm fine, school's great and stop worrying. I'll call you, bye._" The good-natured eye-roll was almost audible if you knew Sam.

Dean smiled sadly, ended the call without leaving a message and wanted to get another beer but ended up carrying the whole six-pack back into his pathetic excuse of a living room. He turned the volume on the TV back on just in time for an interrogation scene and realized after doing a comic double-take that the suspect showed an uncanny resemblance to a certain Mr Novak. Suddenly the show was very interesting and he focused intently on the screen, drinking beer after beer as the episode went on.

When he already felt the familiar buzz of alcohol in his veins he found he just didn't care anymore and redialed his brother's number, waiting for the message to repeat before he spoke. "Hey Sammy it's me. I miss you. My new place sucks… I hate being on my own. But I met someone today," his voice was already slurred but he kept on talking, "Well, 'met' is probably the wrong word… I _saw_ someone. Dark hair, blue eyes- you know I'm a sucker for those, haha." There was a long silence as he was distracted by the Novak-lookalike on screen. He cleared his throat. "'m sorry, Sam, I just really miss talking to you. I'll probably call again soon… bye." It felt like his phone weighed a ton as he hung up and his head felt twice as heavy, so he curled up on the couch without really watching N-C-S-I or whatever the show was called anymore.

He dozed off to the mental image of radiant blue eyes.

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_reviews are like chocolate- you **can** live without them but you don't really want to_


	2. Whisky Bar

**A/N  
**disclaimer: I don't own the characters or other copyrighted material mentioned  
(I spend too much time in front of the TV and blame that for all the references I sneek into the story)

* * *

**Chapter 2**  
Whisky Bar

* * *

Well, show me the way  
To the next whisky bar  
Oh, don't ask why  
Oh, don't ask why  
.

(-_The Doors-_)

* * *

Dean awoke slowly to a soaring headache and a painfully cramping back. Yep, that idea he'd had to get drunk and sleep on the couch? Not one of his best. In fact, he dared to consider it close to a second worst, the worst being the one time he thought it'd be hilarious to get drunk, dress in nothing but a Borat-style speedo and pass out on the beach. At least now he was not sunburnt as if he were trying to cosplay Zoidberg from Futurama and he also didn't have sand up his- actually, never mind that last part.

Slowly, very, _very_ slowly, he dragged himself into a more or less upright position and cautiously opened one eye to take in the damage. There were empty beer cans and a half full- see, ever the optimist- bottle of Whiskey, though he really had no idea or recollection where that had come from. Then again, he always had a secret liquor stash only drunk-him remembered. Dean huffed, the headache fairly endurable. He wasn't an alcoholic, that sounded like he drank himself into oblivion and then went out for a good old hit'n'run drive followed by some puppy-kicking, he was just a… liquor enthusiast. Hell, everyone needed a hobby, right? While others played Mahjong or Squash or did crossword puzzles he liked to drink a nice glass of Jack Daniel's every once in a while. Okay, fine... make that a bottle. Still. Nothing wrong with that.

On the way to the bathroom he made the mistake of looking at the clock on his wall. 8 a.m. ...which meant he was already beyond late because the thing ran like two and a half hours behind the actual time. After he relieved himself and took the quickest shower in the history of ever while simultaneously brushing his teeth he dared to look at his phone. No missed calls.

That was strange...

Anyway, Dean had no time to ponder over the world's lack of interest in him as he got dressed in an oil-stained pair of denims, his old Metallica t-shirt and a grey-_ish_ over-shirt before heading out the door... only to return about twelve seconds later for his shoes and the key to the Impala. Not two minutes after that the roaring of an engine shook the street and Dean sped off to his garage.

At Bobby's everything was peaceful and quiet, which was a miracle, really, because even with no customers you could usually hear Bobby complaining or arguing with Ellen, who owned the Roadhouse across the street. Her daughter, Jo, had gone to school together with Sam and been best friends with his baby bro- and admittedly also with Dean- ever since. To Sam's immeasurable annoyance he'd had plenty of opportunities to tell them that he now finally had the two sisters he's always wanted.

The Winchester chuckled and left the Impala in the backyard to have a look around. Lack of customers could be explained by the fact that the sign reading 'open' was facing inwards, not that he minded since he hadn't even been there. In order to resolve the mystery about Bobby's whereabouts he decided to pay the Roadhouse a visit.

"Hey, Ellen," he called into the dimly lit bar area, knowing that the woman had to be somewhere nearby or she wouldn't have left the front door unlocked.

"In the back," came the muffled reply and Dean followed the voice to the small storage area. He was greeted by a very bored looking Ellen Harvelle who seemed to be checking her inventory. Yikes. "Up bright 'n' early, I see," she joked without looking up at him. "Aspirin's in the cabinet behind the bar, as always. You help yourself."

"Not an alcoholic," he said firmly for what seemed like the millionth time but went to get the medicine anyway because he hated headaches and liked running from his problems. He returned cradling a glass of quickly dissolving headache-cure. "You seen Bobby today?" he asked casually.

"No, but he called me saying he couldn't be bothered to come and watch your sorry ass today," Ellen scoffed, "We both know what that means."

"Yeah..." Dean drowned his medicine in one huge conversation-avoiding gulp because what the older woman had just told him was Bobby's way of saying he wasn't well enough to get out of bed. "I'll check up on him later," he promised.

"You better, boy. But before that I'd get some damn work done instead of keeping others from theirs."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, mom. I'll be across the street, if you need me."

"I'll be here counting pickled vegetables." They parted with a laugh.

In his office he spent half an hour moving a huge-ass stash of paperwork from the left to the right of his desk while pretending to read through the different sheets. What he was really doing was planning the next day because Saturday was reserved for Ben and Ben alone. He thought that they might go and see the new MARVEL movie... Keepers of the Universe or whatever it was called... no, Guardians of the Galaxy. He couldn't be bothered for most comic-based movies, although he had to admit to listening to Iron Man 2's AC/DC soundtrack on occasion, but Ben held a fondness for them that was almost bordering on obsession. One time he remembered the boy proudly telling him that he'd watched The Avengers six times already. Dean had fallen asleep twenty minutes in when he'd seen it and only woken up in time for the secret-but-everyone-knows-about-it end credit scene with the cast silently eating Shawarma for, like, twenty seconds. It really hadn't felt like he'd missed anything essential.

When it seemed like he'd spent a sufficient amount of time doing paper-stuff he got up, stretched his aching limbs and went to do what he actually loved about owning the place; fixing cars. At the moment he had two pretty neat models to work on, both almost as nice as his Impala, though he thought that very silently so his baby wouldn't suspect a thing. One needed a paint-job because it had been severely scratched- seriously, who'd do such a thing?!- and the other's engine needed a complete makeover if the owner ever wanted to drive it again.

The hours flew by while he worked on the cars and he was only interrupted once by a lady who had an appointment for an oil refill and called to ask if virgin olive oil would be sufficient. Dean had tears in his eyes when he hung up.

Since he'd come in so late he worked half an hour longer than he usually would have, only wiping his hands on his jeans when he saw Ellen wave him over. He went to lock up the place, checking all doors and windows- although whoever thought breaking into Bobby's was a good idea had to be retarded- and crossed the street.

"Everything okay?" he asked, curiously eyeing the huge Tupperware box in the woman's hands. The item was promptly handed over to him.

"It's soup and a sandwich for Bobby," she explained and before he could turn his poor impression of Sam's puppy-dog-eyes on her she added, "there's a burger for you, too."

The mechanic beamed at her and darted forward to kiss her cheek. "Awesome, you're the best."

Ellen did her best not to smile fondly at him. "Shut up and go."

The drive to Bobby's old house wasn't too long and traffic wasn't half bad for a Friday night. In just over fifteen minutes Dean found himself outside the older man's door. There was no doorbell but usually it wasn't locked so the Winchester stepped right in. "Don't shoot, alright, it's just me. I got food," he called into the house, knowing Bobby tended to nap with a shotgun nearby. The floorboards creaked as if to announce a serial killer in a horror flick but otherwise there was no answer. For a moment Dean started to worry.

Bobby sat in front of his old TV and stared at the flickering screen, apparently quite intrigued by the program which sounded a lot like Grey's Anatomy. Upon Dean's entering he quickly changed the channel to CNN and sat up straighter, mumbling some comment about the situation in Iraq even though the screen clearly showed the East Coast weather report. Dean left the whole thing uncommented and just set the still mostly warm bowl of soup and the sandwich on the small table next to the older mechanic. He then got a chair from the kitchen and sat down to eat his own double bacon cheeseburger. Ellen excelled at making those.

"I hope you didn't break Gordon's car, boy. I hear he's threatened to chop a guy's head off once."

Dean chuckled at what he really hoped was a joke. "Don't worry, it's all good. He can fetch his baby Tuesday at the latest."

"Good."

They watched the news in silence, neither liking the concept of pointless small talk. It was comfortable and the food was good, so why bother with conversation. Dean glanced over at the older man every once in a while to see if he was eating properly or just staring at his food as he sometimes did. To his relief Bobby seemed hungry enough and all but inhaled his soup, although he did hesitate at the sandwich though that might have been because of the lettuce it contained. All in all Bobby looked fine, maybe a bit pale and slightly older than his actual age but much better than he had after the stroke.

"A picture woulda last you longer, boy," the mechanic grumbled as he noticed Dean staring. "I'm fine. You tell Ellen that too."

"Yeah, sorry," Dean mumbled, looking back at the TV. "You know tomorrow's Saturday... do you want me and Ben to come over? He's been askin' a lot about you lately."

Bobby's eyes lit up at the statement. "Sure, haven't seen the kid in a while." There was a short pause during which the older man observed Dean closely. "How are you?"

Dean sighed and put his empty plate aside. "I miss Sam."

He loved his brother, having practically raised him, but when Sam had gotten a job at some big-shot law firm in New York he'd barely heard from the younger Winchester. A couple of times a month he'd get a call or an email but it had never been the same as when Sam had still been studying at university. What bothered him more than Sammy not contacting him was Sammy not contacting Bobby, though. Not that he could do anything about that now.

Bobby nodded. "I bet he misses ya too."

"Right."

There wasn't much more to be said, considering the two men saw each other every day and soon Dean excused himself to head over to his favorite bar and check in with his buddies as he did almost every Friday to talk about the week.

The place was crowded as hell, which wasn't unusual for a Friday, and it took Dean several minutes until his eyes and nose got used to the thick smoke hanging in the air. He took shallow breaths, coughed anyway, and walked to where his friends were normally seated by this time with determination, ordering a beer from the barkeeper, a British bloke that went by the name of Crowley, as he passed. The spacious corner booth was fully occupied but as soon as his friend Benny caught a glimpse of Dean he shoved some random guy off and patted the spot next to him. Dean grinned broadly at the action and dropped onto the bench.

"Who was that?" he asked, looking after the now fairly grumpy man retreating to the bar.

"Don't know, don't care," Benny shrugged, "I told him he could stay until the seat was needed and now it is, so… I told him to get lost. Find his own friends." His friend's Louisiana slang dripped heavily from his tongue and Dean immediately felt a sense of belonging.

"Winchester!" both Dean and Benny turned toward the voice but there was only a rush of red and an 'oomph' coming from Dean as the one and only Charlie Bradbury dropped into his lap, placing three bottles of beer on the table. "Crowley said you ordered one so I thought I'd bring it with me because I'm such a genuinely nice person."

Benny howled with sarcastic laughter, earning himself a slap to the shoulder. "Shut up," Charlie hissed, laughing herself and sliding off Dean's lap again to push him further into Benny's side so she could have her own spot on the bench. Unfortunately the action made Benny bump shoulders with the guy sitting on his other side, causing him to turn.

"Getting touchy-feely, are we Bennyboy?" sneered Nick, who was fittingly nicknamed Lucifer. When that had happened exactly and who was responsible no one knew but everyone called the man that because, honestly, he acted like the Devil, and that's capital D for you. Sure, a lot of the time he was funny, hilarious even, and Dean had even though he severely disliked the guy spent many a night drinking with him but you really didn't want to have him as an enemy.

"Stick to your side of the table, asshole," bit out Lucifer's girlfriend of the week, glaring at Benny and Dean even when Lucifer had long returned to his conversation, obviously not interested in a fight.

Charlie rolled her eyes and opened her mouth for a bitchy reply but Dean shut her up with a stern look that said clearly 'oh no you don't' so she just stuck out her tongue at the other woman and sulkily took a sip of her beer.

"Well," Dean said, slapping the table lightly and looking between what he supposed were his two best friends, though they didn't really talk all that much outside their Friday nights at the bar anymore, "How was your week?"

Benny shrugged, turning the bottle in his hands to inspect the label. "A lotta work, not much more."

"I hit it off with a totally hot chick Tuesday night. We met online, she beat my freaking high score, do even know what that _means_?" Charlie positively glowed, a stark contrast to her gloomy expression not two seconds before.

Dean frowned. "No, I really don't and don't even bother with explaining any of your weird computer voodoo shit."

"You're no fun," the redhead teased.

"Are you gonna see her again?"

"_Duh_, we Skype almost every night." Charlie looked smug until Benny leaned forward to properly look at her.

"Now tell him where she _lives_ before he starts asking for introductions." At that Dean raised a quizzical eyebrow at the woman next to him who suddenly got very quiet and bit her lip before grabbing her beer and mumbling a reply into the bottle.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that," Dean mocked.

"I _said_," Charlie repeated, staring at the table, "She's Dutch. She lives in Europe."

"Oh how very _romantic_!" the mechanic exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, exaggerating shamelessly by clasping his hands together and batting his eyelashes. Charlie punched him.

"Shut the fuck up."

Benny and Dean shared a laugh but ended up consoling their friend anyway because the poor girl had developed a serious crush on Helga- what kind of _name_ was that anyway?!- and Dean even sponsored another drink. They changed the subject after that, laughing and talking and teasing each other as they always did, keeping up the light atmosphere.

"What about you, though?" the redhead asked in a more hushed tone once Benny had left for the bathroom.

"What about me?" It wasn't that Dean didn't trust his friend but he recognized the expression on Charlie's face. It meant she wanted to talk about _feelings_ and _how_ _he was doing_ and the Winchester wasn't necessarily one to eagerly share anything in that department.

"You know what I mean but fine, if you're not ready to talk about… _that_… let's talk about something else." Charlie smiled sweetly. "How's your sex life?"

Dean almost spit out the beer in his mouth and turned to fully face the woman next to him. "_Excuse_ me?"

"Oh, come on," she shoved his shoulder playfully, "don't be a spoilsport. You know everything about mine!"

The mechanic huffed and pretended to shiver. "You make it sound like it's something I _want_ to know. And there's really nothing to tell."

The redhead frowned in disappointment. "No new love on the horizon?" Weirdly enough a random image of the dancing instructor from the night before flashed in his mind but Dean shrugged it off because it gave him an odd feeling and he shook his head, downing his beer as a distraction. "Such a shame," Charlie mumbled.

Benny returned to the table just at that moment, pulling over a vacant chair to sit down so they all had more space. "What is?"

"I'm not dating anyone," Dean explained to humor the girl next to him who was already swaying slightly from the alcohol she had consumed.

His friend laughed, scratching his beard. "I gotta agree, that _is_ a shame. How long's it been since you ended things with Lisa?"

Dean sighed. "A while."

"Exactly. A fucking long while too if you asked me, brother."

The Winchester just shrugged, effectively ending the conversation by changing the subject. "Dude, it's been fun and all but I better get her home, don't you think?" He nodded at Charlie whose head rested heavily on his shoulder. Benny eyed the girl for a moment. She could hold her liquor but she also went from fairly sober to ridiculously drunk within moments once she'd had enough.

"Yeah, you do that. I'll stay another while." They nodded their goodbye at each other and Dean threw the redhead's arm over his shoulder so he could drag her out of the by now less crowded bar, waving at Crowley as he left and motioning to the money lying on the table to cover his bill. The barkeeper nodded and even that looked arrogant.

Once he had settled his friend in the backseat he got in behind the wheel, hoping he wouldn't get pulled over even though he hadn't drunk all that much. He could probably pass for completely sober at the first glance and to take care of the lingering smell of beer on his breath he always had a pack of spearmint chewing gum in the glove compartment. Chewing lazily he pulled out of the parking spot and drove along the outskirts of town until he reached the slip road leading to Charlie's district. Her apartment building was fairly new but she had lived there as long as he could remember. It was a nice area too, there was a park nearby and it wasn't too far from the city center… not that any of that mattered to Charlie who barely even opened her blinds during the day and only went outside for the bar or LARPing, to which she might or might not have dragged him with her once or twice.

Thankfully the girl lived on the first floor so he only had to carry her up one flight of stairs. For a woman she was heavy when passed out but Dean knew better than to say that out loud, knowing that even though she often had blackouts after drinking, she always remembered the insults.

He kicked the door mat out of the way, having troubles while still mostly supporting his friend's weight, and awkwardly managed to pick up the spare key to put it in the lock. "Whoopsie daisy," he huffed as he pushed the redhead into the apartment and steered her straight into the bedroom. The mechanic had intended to just drop her off and leave again, feeling tired from all the pretend-work he'd been doing that day but a hand on his wrist held him back.

"Dean-o, you can stay," Charlie hiccupped slightly. He hated the nickname but cracked a smile.

"Nah, I'll just head home," he whispered.

"_Nooo_!" With a surprising amount of force considering her state she pulled him towards her, throwing him off-balance so that he fell into the bed. Dean had barely enough time to brace himself on the mattress so he wouldn't crush the redhead beneath him.

"Whoa, I thought you were into chicks," he joked, settling into a more comfortable position and kicking off his boots, too tired to argue with any of her drunk reasoning.

"I am," Charlie wrapped her arms around his torso, hugging him to her. "But you're like my big cuddle buddy. Helga won't mind."

Dean chuckled and patted the woman's back affectionately. "Yeah fine I'll stay. But if you puke or even drool on me I will end you, Miss Bradbury."

The redhead giggled although she was already half asleep. "Jerk."

"Bitch," he replied automatically, going rigid once he realized what he'd said. Not because it was an insult, it was one of Charlie's favorite words so he doubted she'd be offended, but because the reply was part of a ritual he and Sammy had had ever since they had been kids. If he called his brother a bitch, Sam would throw back a huffed 'jerk' and the other way around.

The mechanic swallowed hard and was glad Charlie clung- sleeping soundly- to his left body half, which meant he could easily reach the phone in his right pocket. He dialed the familiar number in the dark.

"_Hello, this is Sam Winchester, sorry I couldn't answer right now but leave your number and I'll, uh, call back._"

Dean didn't wait for the second half of the message.

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_Reviews are to me what pie is to Dean __**;)**_


	3. No One Like You

**Chapter 3**  
No One Like You

* * *

There's no one like you

I can't wait for the nights with you

I imagine the things we'll do  
.

(-_The Scorpions_-)

* * *

Dean had overslept- _again_- because his alarm hadn't gone off and woken him _because_ he had stayed at Charlie's. Not that he minded the comfortable bed or the simple coziness of sleeping next to someone but he knew how much Lisa hated him being late to pick up Ben. Of course he felt bed for not being on time but Ben had never uttered a single complaint, all the guilt-tripping usually came from his mother alone and Lisa really knew how to make him feel really bad about his actions since she knew exactly which buttons to push.

The mechanic practically jumped out of bed, crawling along the floor in search for his shoes and phone which he had dropped during the course of the night. He noticed that the sheets next to where he had slept were rumpled but empty and he frowned, wondering how Charlie had woken up before him and managed to even get her ass out of bed- She _should_ be suffering from a serious hangover.

But she wasn't because the next instant a very chipper redhead appeared at the door, beaming at him and greeting him with a sung 'good morning' at which he couldn't help but smile and shake his head in slight disbelief. "Pancakes are ready," she chirped.

"You know it's Saturday, right?" He quirked an eyebrow at his hostess.

Charlie blanched slightly with realization, though it could barely be noticed due to her naturally fair complexion. "Shit, it's your day with Ben! I'm so sorry, I should've woken you earlier, I've been up for ages!"

"Well, maybe if I leave, like, _now_ I can still make it," Dean mused but his friend crinkled her nose at him.

"You can't turn up like…that"-she gestured up and down his body- "Your clothes are all wrinkled and, pardon my honesty, but you smell like the bar. I mean you're late already, so just call Ben or Lisa, tell them it'll take you another hour. That way you can take a shower, get changed and eat some damn breakfast."

Dean considered that for a moment. "That… actually sounds reasonable. I'll do that." The red-haired girl beamed at him but shied away when he leaned forward to peck her cheek, clasping her nose dramatically.

"Morning breath," she warned. They laughed and Dean went into the bathroom after sending texts to both Braedens, apologizing and telling them he'd be there as quick as possible.

For some reason there was a spare set of clothes actually belonging to him waiting on the washing machine and he wondered briefly when exactly he had left them at Charlie's place but not remembering it for the life of him. With a shrug he slipped into the pair of boxers, jeans and the slate-grey button down, frowning at the hot pink socks still mockingly lying there. He had never seen _those_ before, so they must have been Charlie's. After a moment's hesitation he slipped them on, mostly because he had just showered and felt far too clean to wear his old stinky socks from the previous workday. It wasn't like anyone was going to see them.

In the kitchen the smell of pancakes and maple syrup immediately enveloped him and he took a long sniff of the air, savouring the lingering scent. Charlie was a terrible cook otherwise but _damn_ could the girl make killer pancakes and breakfast waffles. Noticing his presence, the woman turned and placed a steaming mug next to the fully pancake-stacked plate on her tiny kitchen table. Dean sat down with a huge grin, feeling his stomach growl. "What did I do to deserve all this?" he asked, digging in with enthusiasm.

"Ah, you know, it's because you drove me home and let me hold you hostage," Charlie ruffled through his damp hair. "Plus; you're wearing the pink socks I left you as a joke. You've earned it."

"They make me feel pretty," Dean said with a goofy smile, making Charlie snort with laughter.

A good fifty minutes later Dean pulled up at the Braeden house, waving at Ben who had already been waiting for him at his window. Lisa was nowhere to be seen and she had reacted calmly to his earlier text message so Dean guessed he was getting a free pass this time. Still the mechanic made a mental note to not be late for the Saturdays to come, not lastly for the boy's sake.

The door to the Impala was pulled open on the passenger side and Ben grinned widely at him. "Hey, Dean."

"Hey," the mechanic echoed, shifting the car into gear. "Sorry I'm late. I was thinking of going to see a movie? Guardians of the… Garrison?" He knew the name of the movie by now, of course, but they had this little DC versus MARVEL rivalry thing going on between them, constantly teasing the other label.

Ben laughed. "It's '_Galaxy'_, Dean. And the movie won't be out until August, so, nice idea but we'll have to wait for that one."

"Oh…" Dean really hadn't thought about that properly. "Well then. Is there anything else you'd want to watch? Because if not we can head straight over to Bobby's."

He noticed the boy next to him chewing on his bottom lip, a nervous tick usually indicating that he was keeping some sort of information from Dean. In return the mechanic merely cleared his throat to get Ben's attention and raised a questioning eye-brow.

"Okay," Ben gave in, "I know I've been bugging you about going to see Bobby for a while and I'd really like to go… but…"

"_But_?" Dean repeated demandingly when Ben didn't continue straight away.

"I kinda have hip hop practise?"

The mechanic heaved a heavy sigh. "I'm sure you've known that for longer than five minutes."

The boy nodded. "Well, yeah. But I wanted to see you and I thought you'd come and maybe watch for a while."

Dean couldn't help the almost painful tug at his heart. He assured the boy that he'd watch, _of course_ he'd watch. It made him a little weary that Ben thought he had to surprise him with a request like that and he realized that the kid was terrified of being abandoned by him, a fear his biological father had triggered by leaving the family even before Ben's birth. Dean could relate, having had a whole lot of bad experiences with his own old man. Pulling a '_John Winchester_' had become a phrase a lot of his friends had taken on to using for any kind of bad parenting because that's how much his dad had messed up. The very day Dean had turned eighteen he had left the house, Sam in tow. His dad hadn't noticed until Bobby had called him a week later to ask how the boys were doing. John hadn't even been in the same state and Dean had sworn to himself to never become like his father.

Pulling up in front of _Dance Heaven_ in the light of day was a strange break of routine but Ben's grin was contagious and Dean found himself smiling from ear to ear. They walked across the parking lot side by side, playfully shoving each other and trash-talking until they couldn't get out a straight sentence anymore from laughing so hard.

Inside Ben's laughter died down to a chuckle as he spotted the man at the reception desk. "Hey, Mr Novak," he called out almost shyly.

"Hello, Ben," the dark-haired man replied without looking up from his papers.

Ben told Dean that he would go change in the locker rooms and training wasn't scheduled to start for fifteen minutes. Dean barely listened and just so managed to nod, eyes fixated on the dancing instructor he had watched the previous Thursday. As if on their own accord his legs started moving and suddenly he found himself leaning against the counter without remembering taking the few steps there. "Hey, _Mr Novak_," he repeated Ben's greeting, only with indicated flirtation.

The dancer looked up, recognition sparking in his blue eyes, followed by an ever so slight hint of confusion. "Do I know you?"

"I, uh, I don't think so…" Dean stammered, momentarily lacking his usual confidence. "Ben asked me to stick around for his training today."

Mr Novak- and Dean hated that he didn't have a first name to apply to the handsome face- nodded and smiled in a very welcoming way. "Ah, are you Mr Braeden, then? I apologize, I only ever met your wife before. Your son is doing great, from what I hear."

The mechanic blushed, gaze dropping to the floor. "Okay, awkward," he huffed. "I'm not Ben's dad. I'm… his mom's ex-boyfriend?"

Blue eyes went wide. "Oh, I wasn't aware… The way Lisa spoke of you, I just assumed-"

"No, it's fine… I get that a lot, actually. We had the whole patchwork thing going nicely… until we didn't anymore. But just because it didn't work out relationship-wise it doesn't mean I have to abandon the kid, you know?"

The dancer had put the papers previously in his hands aside and was now fully engaging in the strangely personal conversation. "That's very amiable, Mr…?"

"Winchester. Dean Winchester." Dean cleared his throat and finally looked up into those ridiculously blue eyes again, cracking a smile and holding out his hand.

"Castiel Novak." The other man smiled back, accepting the handshake. Castiel… Dean wondered about the origins of that name but decided he liked it, it had a very nice ring to it and perfectly suited the man whose hand he was clasping. They both realized that they were still holding onto each other at the same time and Castiel pulled back. "A lot of children attending classes at my studio have suffered greatly under divorces and the like, I'm glad to see a positive example for a change."

"Yeah," the mechanic said awkwardly, not really knowing how to respond, especially since a very serious, very _unblinking_ pair of blue eyes was distracting him.

"I _do_ know you," the dancer finally said, pointing a slender finger at the Winchester. "You were the one watching me teach the tango class." He straightened up, smugly crossing his arms.

"And there I was thinking I was being inconspicuous," Dean joked, shaking his head in faux-frustration. The dark-haired man laughed, a low sound that made the mechanic feel a lot more comfortable in the other's company than he should, considering they were practically strangers.

"Your presence was greatly distracting," Castiel said in a voice that sounded almost coy. Dean couldn't help but lean further across the counter separating them.

"Was it? I'm sorry 'bout that. I'll try to be less noticeable next time."

"_Next time?" _They both chuckled when Dean shrugged innocently at the other man's feigned incredulity. For a moment neither said anything and they just shared a look until the dancing instructor exhaled and took a step back. "Can I interest you in some coffee?" He motioned toward a small espresso machine in the corner.

Dean nodded perhaps a little bit too eagerly considering he'd had a large cup at Charlie's not two hours earlier. "Sure. Thanks." He smiled what Sammy had always called his charmer-smile and was pleased with himself when the hint of a blush crept onto the dancer's cheeks. It didn't take too long until two small Styrofoam cups stood on the reception desk. Dean grabbed one of them and blew at the surface to cool the beverage at least slightly before taking a cautious sip. He grimaced, not because of the temperature but because it was probably the worst coffee he'd ever had in his life.

"Dude, you said you'd give me coffee!" he exclaimed. "I don't know _what_ this is but it's anything _but_ coffee."

Castiel shrugged and took a sip of his own cup without even wincing. "I didn't say it was _good_ coffee, though I suppose I could have warned you. You get used to the taste after a while."

Dean shuddered dramatically. "Why would you _want_ to get used to that?" Again the dancer just shrugged and drank from his cup, causing Dean to shake his head in disbelief. "Man, how do you not puke?"

"Are you done insulting the warm beverage I offered you for free?" He wasn't seriously offended, at least Dean didn't think so, but he was looking rather stern. It made him look few years older than when he was all relaxed and smiling.

"I might just have to take you out for some real coffee." As so often the mechanic's mouth spoke before his brain could do any thinking or intervene on time and therefore Dean's eyes widened comically once he realized he just practically asked Castiel Novak out after barely ten minutes of conversation.

To his great relief the other man reacted with a kind and even somewhat suggestive smile. "Well, as tempting as that offer is, I have a class to teach in" – he glanced at his watch- "Seven minutes. And from what I gathered you promised to watch Zeke's hip hop class, which starts just about now. We better get going."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, though he would very much have liked for the pleasant conversation to continue. "We better." He patted the countertop and turned to leave so Ben wouldn't be disappointed.

"However, you do now officially owe me some coffee, Dean Winchester," Castiel called as he walked out from behind the reception desk and past the mechanic "Also, your shoe laces are undone. Nice socks." He disappeared into the room from Thursday.

"What the-" Dean looked down to see that yes, his laces were undone and his shoes therefore just untied enough for a glimpse of hot pink sock showing on the left foot. "Son of a bitch," the mechanic muttered slightly too loudly as he bent down to re-tie his shoe.

Someone in the tango class chuckled in response and Dean didn't have to guess who it was.

The mechanic strolled over to where he knew Ben's class was and leaned against the doorframe, much like he had done when he had watched Castiel and his students. A rather large group of kids roughly Ben's age were mirroring several warm-up moves from a tall dude in casual sweatpants and a baseball cap. Ben caught his gaze in the mirror and grinned before focusing his attention back on the instructor. Dean, in return, smiled a half-smile and entered the room, noticing a comfortable looking couch in the back.

To his admittedly unprofessional eye the group was doing rather well. Their movements were smooth and they made decidedly less mistakes than the adults in the tango class had on Thursday. Dean guessed it was because they were freaking determined to win that competition in summer, and even though the event was still a while into the future they were putting everything they had into the performance. Also after the third or fourth run-through he found himself tapping his foot in the song's rhythm, taking a liking to the pumping basses and slight hints of, what was it called, dub-step?

Ben practically glowed with pride when he managed to ace a particularly difficult move and Dean pumped his fist in the air in silent celebration, remembering how often the boy had spoken about how he was never going to succeed. Now he had and Dean was happy for the kid. They would go get a celebratory milkshake later on before visiting Bobby.

The group kept on dancing and, aside from a few mishaps, earned their instructor's praise and with time Ben stopped constantly checking for Dean's presence in the mirror. The mechanic took the opportunity to go looking for a bathroom in the building. He stepped out of the room, careful so as not to disturb the dancers, and walked up and down the corridor, looking for a sign or an arrow or anything else to indicate a toilet.

"You seem a little lost."

Dean jumped in puzzlement at the voice sounding too close to his ear and spun around to look straight into those stupidly blue eyes he already felt like he would recognize anywhere by now. Castiel was leaning against a wall, sweat-soaked shirt sticking to his body and hair disarrayed like he had just been fooling around with someone in a supply closet.

Oh, now that brought some interesting images to Dean's mind but he was quick to shake his head at his own thoughts. "I was just looking for a bathroom?"

"Down the hall to the right, there are three steps leading down to a door." Castiel kindly pointed into the direction Dean had just come from and waited for a response.

"Erm, thanks," Dean muttered and took a couple of backwards steps before turning and almost tumbled down the hallway to the steps he had missed during his first search trip. Inside the small but exceptionally clean bathroom he took a long moment to look at his reflection in the medium sized mirror. This wasn't normal Winchester behaviour. Ever since he had entered the building and encountered that damned dancer he had stumbled not only over his words but also _literally_ stumbled more often than at any other given time since his fourteen-year-old self had discovered the wonders of dating and attempted to ask the first girls out.

Emphasis in this case being on _girls_, mind you.

Dean was far from homophobic and he despised all those narrow-minded people in this world that were but he had never actually considered himself anything but straight. Okay so there had been the occasional experience with guys in his younger years in some shady places on lonely nights of drunkenness but generally he preferred women because sex was a lot easier without having to worry about lube or prep or a load of cum up the ass- not that he'd bottom, Jesus Christ what was his mind _doing_?!

"Fuck." The single syllable was huffed at his reflection in an almost accusatory tone and Dean forgot why he had come into the bathroom in the first place after this miniature freak-out session. He left without using the toilet.

Outside the world had kept spinning like normal, everyone around him blissfully unaware of the precarious situation he so suddenly had slipped into. Ben's class had ended and the boy was happily chatting with some of the other kids, laughing at a joke before he spotted Dean and waved at him. Years of pretending to be alright had prepared the mechanic for moments such as this and he put on a wide smile he knew didn't reach his eyes but still served the purpose.

"Did you see the jump, Dean? Did you see it?" Ben grabbed Dean's arm and bounced up and down in prideful excitement. The mechanic chuckled.

"Hell yeah I did. You were _awesome_," he complimented, offering a high-five. Ben jumped into the air to reach up and clapped their palms together. "Now go grab your stuff, Ellen's probably waiting with some lunch."

"Be right back, I'm starving!"

Dean crossed his arms, looking after the kid with a feeling of pure warmth. Ben reminded him so much of his brother in the time before their mother had died, he was so full of life and eagerness for everything _and_ he could eat like a bear. It wouldn't actually surprise Dean if the boy had a growth spurt in the next year or so and became all sasquatch-y like Sam.

"How's their choreography coming along?"

Again the mechanic jumped at the voice and almost squeaked in a way that would have caused major embarrassment. "Sheesh, can you stop doing that?"

Castiel blinked. "Doing what?"

"I don't know," the mechanic gestured helplessly, "Randomly appearing behind me. It's creepy."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I tend to do that, yes." The dark-haired man cleared his throat and averted his gaze, blushing very slightly. Dean nearly felt bad for telling-off the other man so harshly, after all the dude wasn't exactly aware of the effect he had on him and that Dean just really didn't know what to do with his confusion whenever he was anywhere close to the dancer, which was stupid really, since they had barely exchanged twenty sentences and all he knew about Castiel was that he could dance, had bad taste in coffee and stunning blue eyes.

"It's alright, I was just… you surprised me," Dean said almost apologetically, voice much calmer in order to not call attention to the exchange which must have sounded pretty odd to an outsider.

"Well, I do understand your discomfort," the dancer said and licked his lips. And Dean was totally not focusing on the movement at all. "I'll try and sufficiently announce my presence in the future."

"Yeah, you do that." Just then Ben came walking down the hall with his backpack slung over one shoulder and Dean buried his hands in his jeans pockets, looking at Castiel who now stood at an acceptable distance. Ben joined them, meeting Dean's gaze expectantly. "C'mon champ, food's waiting," the mechanic said, clapping the boy on the shoulder and sending him towards the exit as he followed the lead.

"See you on Thursday," Castiel called out after the pair. Ben, of course, thought nothing of it and said his goodbye dutifully but Dean didn't miss the hopeful undertone in the dancer's voice. Stopping at the glass door he turned to look back, knowing the pair of blue eyes would still be on him.

He hesitated for a moment and then decided he might as well go through with it now that he'd started the flirting earlier that day so he winked coquettishly, muttering "See ya, Castiel," before he walked out of _Dance Heaven _with a lot less weight in his steps.

Things were getting interesting.

* * *

_Reviews are like hiccups- If I get them I know you've been thinking about me_ **;)**


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